


Three of us

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Also you can ignore most of s4 for this, Domesticity, First Kiss, I'm just using sherlock john and rosie here, M/M, Parentlock, Post S4, Short Chapters, Will ge explicit at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-20 03:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9473057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: He leans in as soon as he’s close enough, kissing Rosie’s forehead softly, murmuring a quiet “Morning love” as Sherlock goes into more detailed facts about Rosie’s sleeping habits. John isn’t sure what happens next, but without thinking twice about it and actually feeling like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do right now, he leans in towards Sherlock and kisses his temple with a smile.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this first chapter here but I'm still not certain where I'll go with this story yet. I'll probably write more whenever I have the time, so expect a lot of fluff and some sexy times too.
> 
> The chapter is not beated yet, but will be soon by Heather!
> 
> Pauline.

Sherlock is talking to Rosie, again.

For the past two months, they had fallen into some kind of routine. John goes to shower and get ready while listening to Sherlock’s voice explaining either the ingredients inside Rosie’s breakfast or the composition of the formula she drinks. Rosie usually hums and babbles happily in her highchair, her attention entirely focused on him. Sherlock had taken the habit of sitting her close to him, feeding her patiently and ignoring his own breakfast entirely. 

John is starting to think he will never get tired of such mornings.

Today, Rosie is watching Sherlock with wide eyes as he details the pros and cons of one of her toys. She turns when John enters the kitchen and waves towards Sherlock as if to say,  _ look what he’s doing to my bumble bee _ , and John can only nod and smile at her. 

“She woke up later than usual,” Sherlock points out, putting the toy down and Rosie actually sighs in protest. 

“Babies tend to sleep longer as they grow old, Sherlock,” John remarks, going for the coffee pot.

“It’s probably because she went to bed later than usual,” Sherlock continues, waiting for Rosie to open her mouth. “Her sleep patterns are getting more regular.”

“Thank god for that,” John laughs and walks around the table.

He leans in as soon as he’s close enough, kissing Rosie’s forehead softly, murmuring a quiet “Morning love” as Sherlock goes into more detailed facts about Rosie’s sleeping habits. John isn’t sure what happens next, but without thinking twice about it and actually feeling like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do right now, he leans in towards Sherlock and kisses his temple with a smile.

Time actually stops.

For several seconds, the only sounds echoing in the flat are Rosie’s babbling. John can’t seem to be able to move any more and Sherlock’s body is tensed on his chair. He isn’t moving either, John remarks after a moment, and it finally starts to sink in. Sherlock’s skin, soft and strangely warm, his hair brushing John’s nose and the faint smell of honey soap. 

In the end, Rosie’s spoon falling in the floor makes them both jump in surprise. John straightens up quickly, finding it hard to look away from Sherlock’s  _ blushing _ face, and he clears his throat quietly. Sherlock slowly raises his eyes to him, and just for a moment, John wonders what it feels like not being completely, absolutely in love with this brilliant man.

“John,” Sherlock says in a breath, the word stretching around them for long seconds.

Even Rosie has fallen silent, as if aware of what she’s witnessing. With his heart pounding and his entire body shivering, John leans down again, eyes searching Sherlock’s and finding there bare trust and wonder. Sherlock’s lips feel nothing like what John had even dared to imagine, and they both exhale loudly. John lingers for several seconds, their lips brushing softly, and raises one hand to stroke Sherlock’s nape carefully. 

“Bee!” Rosie exclaims suddenly, forcing them apart but John remains close.

He opens his eyes slowly, finding Sherlock’s still closed and his lips stretching into a smile. “Again,” he whispers, and John finds himself laughing as he seals their lips once more. Both of Sherlock’s hands are now cupping his face, as if to keep him there, and John smiles into the kiss.

Rosie is still babbling to herself, and Sherlock’s thumbs are stroking John’s cheeks as he smiles back.

John is certain, he will never get tired of such mornings.


	2. Chapter 2

“Bee!” Rosie exclaims again, this time hitting the table with her hands until John finally pulls away and gives her back the toy. “Bee.”

John forces himself to focus on her for a second, trying to regulate his heartbeat and ragged breathing, before looking back at Sherlock. His eyes are still closed, but they flutter open slowly after a while. They stare at each other in silence, John still able to feel Sherlock’s lips against his own, and he wonders if Sherlock would just agree to kiss all day.

“She’s finished,” he says instead. Sherlock’s eyes dart to Rosie for the briefest of seconds before coming back to him. John wants to kiss him again. “I should get her ready.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything a for a long moment, eyes scanning John’s face, before declaring, “I’ll do it. You’re late for work.”

John glances as his watch.  _ Christ _ , he’s really late. He had forgotten about his shift at the clinic, and leaving the flat is now the last thing he wants to do. “Thank you. I-” He stops, licking his lips. “I better go.”

Sherlock nods slowly, eyes not leaving his. His neck is still flushed and there’s something in his eyes that makes John’s heart beats just a little bit faster. He clenches his fists once, twice, and finally turns around. He heads for the living room, grabbing his coat quickly and allowing himself a moment to focus. For god’s sake, they’ve only kissed and he apparently still can’t talk with Sherlock without feeling like he can’t breathe.

Sherlock joins him with Rosie in his arms, pausing a few steps away and John wants to crawl back into his arms and breathe him in.

“I’ll be back for lunch,” he says with a smile, fingers playing his keys.

Sherlock nods, “Alright.”

They stare at each other. Rosie wiggles in Sherlock’s arms, looking at the floor and he slowly lets her down. She crawls to the sofa, picking up another toy and starts babbling again. They both look away from her at the same, eyes meeting and John thinks  _ It’s easy, just go to him and kiss him. You just did minutes ago. It’s easy. _

“Don’t do anything stupid or bloody dangerous while I’m gone,” he smiles, feeling  something warm spread throughout his chest as Sherlock rolls his eyes in reply. He goes to kiss Rosie goodbye quickly and looks back at Sherlock with his heart pounding in his ears. “Off I go, then.”

He smiles one last time at Sherlock before taking a deep breath and heading out. He listens for any signs of Sherlock following him down the stairs, but nothing. Trying not to read too much into the past few minutes, he closes his jacket and heads outside, choosing to walk to the clinic. He’s already late anyway.  _ Christ _ , why is it still so hard? He’s been back at Baker Street for months, has picked up his old life (or something close enough) and he’s pretty certain Rosie would throw a tantrum if she didn’t see Sherlock for more than one day. Somehow, they has become a family, one John hadn’t left himself dream of all these years. And yet…

What is he doing?

He just kissed Sherlock Holmes, twice, and left for work?

_ Idiot _ , John smiles with a shake of his head before heading back towards 221B as fast as possible. 


	3. Chapter 3

John pushes the front door open quietly and smiles to himself when he realises Sherlock is climbing down the stairs from the upstairs bedroom. He just probably finished changing her, and John climbs the stairs slowly. 

“One day, you’ll learn that your Daddy is a bit of an idiot, Rosie.”

John smiles, shaking his head but stops on the stairs when Sherlock’s voice gets closer.

“He still believes he needs to go to work,” Sherlock continues, and Rosie makes an approving noise. “I’m glad you agree, this is a waste of his time entirely.”

The door to the sitting room opens and John takes the final steps to join them, feeling the warmth in his chest expand to his entire body as Sherlock concludes, “But it’s okay, we love him anyway, don’t we?”

John realises he’s grinning ear to ear, the urge to take Sherlock in his arms and never let go suddenly quite overwhelming, and he enters the flat quietly. Sherlock has his back to him, settling Rosie down on the rug between their chairs. John waits for another second, taking in the simple and yet breathtaking fact that this is  _ his family _ , and then slides both arms around Sherlock’s waist.

Sherlock stills for a brief second before relaxing and placing one hand over John’s on his stomach, “John.”

“You’re right,” John says, nuzzling his nose against Sherlock’s upper back, “I’m an idiot.”

Sherlock’s thumb traces the lines of his wrist, “You are?”

John nods, his lips brushing Sherlock’s nape, “Yes. I’ve been thinking about kissing you for years, too many years, and when finally I get the chance to do it, to know the exact taste of your lips, I bloody leave for work.”

He feels Sherlock shivering in his arms before he’s turning around to face him. His eyes find John’s immediately, searching, and John makes sure to let all the love and amazement he feels for this brilliant man in front of him show. There isn’t time for hiding, not anymore.

“You’re not an idiot,” Sherlock says, almost in a whisper. “I never thought you were. You’re strong, and brave, and beautiful, and everything I’ve never dared to hope for. You are, as I’ve said before, my conductor of light, the person who keeps me right and makes me want to get up every morning. You are all of this, John Watson, and so much more.”

John opens his mouth, ready to reply something along the lines of  _ god, I love you _ or  _ you bloody romantic, kiss me right now _ , but there is really nothing he can say to explain the pounding of heart and the spinning of his head, so he leans in and captures Sherlock’s mouth in another kiss.

Sherlock’s arms come alive, locked around his waist, as he presses into the kiss. Somehow, it’s nothing like their first two kisses, as if they are discovering each other all over again. John is almost hesitant, his tongue tracing Sherlock’s lower lip slowly, and he can feel Sherlock exhale against his cheek as he opens his mouth to him. It’s tender, so very tender, and John’s grip on Sherlock’s shirt tightens. They part for a second, maybe less, before Sherlock is seeking his mouth again, and John loses himself inside the kiss.

“I love you,” he breathes when they pull away for air, “I love you, I love you.”

Sherlock kisses the words from his mouth, swallowing both of their moans as their hands become more and more adventurous.  _ God _ , how John wants him. He’s been craving Sherlock’s body against his for too long, and he’s not certain he will be able to detach himself from the man’s arms ever again. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following me through this story, 
> 
> Pauline.

John calls in sick, talking to Sarah on the phone while watching Sherlock entertain Rosie on the sofa. Sarah says she understands and wishes him well, but John isn’t listening. He can’t take his eyes off of the two of them, his family, the two people around whom his entire life revolves now. He joins them as soon as he hangs up, sitting on the sofa with a smile and letting one hand slide up Sherlock’s back and into his hair. Sherlock doesn’t look up from Rosie but leans into the touch. John closes his eyes and listens to the two of them talking for what might be hours or seconds. 

Rosie is the one to remind them they can’t spend the entire day on the sofa, and on an impulse John offers a walk in the park. Sherlock looks uncertain for a moment, glancing at the window and then the experiment on the kitchen table, but says, “Better take her rain coat,” before getting up. It’s only after catching Sherlock looking at his hand four times that John laces their fingers together and lets out a small laugh when he feels Sherlock squeeze his hand  in return. They don’t let go until they’re back home.

Lunch is spent with their feet meeting under the table and Rosie’s food smashed all over the table. John doesn’t think once about protesting.

Naptime is- well, naptime is interesting.

John comes down the stairs only to find Sherlock lying on the sofa. He’s staring at the ceiling, but he looks at John as soon as he’s back. John sways on his feet for a second, hands clasped behind his back, glancing from his chair to the sofa. In the end, it’s Sherlock who settles his internal dilemma by scooting further against the cushion and leaving an empty space for him.

John is somehow not surprised to find out they both fit perfectly together.

John lets Sherlock trace the lines of his face for long minutes, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. Sherlock whispers, his voice barely audible, and John wishes he could engrave each letter.  _ You have lines around your eyes, especially when you smile, from the moment we met I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to trace them, to choose one and see where it ends.  _ John smiles and smiles and lets Sherlock touch and explore. But then John feels like he can’t take another second without kissing this brilliant man in front of him, so he does.

Sherlock presses them from head to toe, legs tangled and hands sliding up and down back and neck and arse. John gets lost inside Sherlock’s mouth, letting his tongue explore and taste, not caring about the sounds he makes or the shivers running through him. He doesn't mind. He’s been waiting for this for too long to care. He needs Sherlock, needs him now more than ever and is willing to let him take him apart piece by piece.

Rosie starts to cry upstairs just as John’s arousal is becoming more and more obvious. Sherlock sighs into the kiss, both hands roaming over John’s back, before pulling away. There, right there, with something dark and bare in his eyes, John has never seen Sherlock more beautiful. Still, he lets go of him and with one last kiss moves to fetch Rosie from their room.

The rest of the day is filled with a tension that wasn’t there before. John stops counting Sherlock’s glances in his direction, eyes either finding his hands, his chest or his arse, and he stops himself from doing the same too often. It reminds him all too much of all those years he spent sharing this flat with Sherlock and fantasizing about so much more than just friendship. Rosie, oblivious to it all, drinks her evening bottle staring up into John’s eyes. Sherlock insists on putting her to bed, and John remains standing in the living room, listening to both of them upstairs.

The silence stretches between them when Sherlock finally comes back downstairs, stopping in front of him and staring right into his eyes. John wants to reach for him, wants to press them together, wants to make every inch of Sherlock’s body his and  _ his only _ .

“John,” Sherlock breathes out, one hand coming to take his.

“I love you,” John finds himself answering, taking the final step between them and pressing his lips against Sherlock’s jaw. “I love you.”

Sherlock presses them closer together, “I have no idea what I am doing, John.”

John kisses his lower lip, smiling, “Let me show you.”

Sherlock lets out a shaky breath, “Yes, please.”

John kisses him then, leading them both towards Sherlock’s bedroom and without another word exchanged, undresses them both softly. Sherlock’s eyes don’t leave his until they’re both naked and lying on the bed, and then John can’t control anything anymore. Sherlock explores all of him with soft caresses, whispered adorations and hesitant kisses. John gasps and moans and aches for more, more,  _ more _ .

John discovers just how sensitive Sherlock’s neck is, kissing over his pulse point for long seconds until Sherlock is squirming under him, kissing at his nipples until Sherlock’s hands are gripping his arse, rocking against him until Sherlock’s legs are locked around his waist. They are gasping against each other mouths rather than kissing now, and John is certain he’s never going to be able to breathe properly again. Each movement rubbing their erections together, the pleasure building in waves, making this moment everything and more.

“John, John,  _ John _ .”

“You’re beautiful,” John gasps, “So beautiful.”

Sherlock moans, throwing his head back as he comes, and John can only stare and wonder what he ever did to be so lucky as his own orgasm overtakes him. John falls boneless on top of him, Sherlock wrapping himself around him and murmuring  words John can’t understand into his neck.

It doesn’t matter. Soon, he’ll be able to breathe properly again. Soon, he’ll be kissing Sherlock again. Soon, he’ll be telling him just how he saved his life all those years ago.

Soon, they’ll be starting the rest of their lives, together. 


End file.
